Straight to Number One
by Sarcasm for free
Summary: What's better than watching the Nymeriac Games with a drink in your hand and your lover by your side? Doing that while your ex-girlfriend kicks metaphorical ass at said Games, that's what. Although, that might only be true for Jaime Lannister.


_This fic can be read on its own, though it's a sequel to_ Soda Pop, Soda Pop, Baby, Here I Come _._

 _If you haven't read the previous installment, no problem. All you have to know is that, a bit over a year ago, Jaime and Brienne broke up because she got a chance to be a professional gymnast, he and Bronn got together, and Jaime fought with Cersei over the rights to their inherited soda shop ;)_

 _This is my personal crusade to see my babies happy, even if not in my usual pairing combinations.  
_

 _The title is, once again, from the lyrics of Marina and the Diamonds' "Bubblegum Bitch"_

* * *

 **Straight to Number One**

Jaime almost slipped on the parquet floor in his haste to reach the living room in time. Socked feet on polished ground, his left hand occupied with two uncapped beer bottles and his right forearm pressing a bowl of popcorn to his body did him no favors in that regard.

"Did I miss it? Was she already on?" He took his place next to Bronn on the couch, plopped the bowl into his own lap, and passed one of the drinks over to his companion. The TV screen showed the other girl from the Winterfell squad, Arya Stark, holding her drop down position with a maniacal grin on her face as the judges gave their points.

"You were only gone for two minutes. All you missed was little Miss Joker Grin playing screwdriver on that bar," Bronn said and stole a few pieces.

The Nymeriac Games were in full swing and the women's uneven bars final almost over. They had seen neither hide nor hair of Brienne since the entrance of the athletes. The hype that had surrounded her career start as the tallest uneven bars gymnast ever recorded had apparently withered and died already. The cameras weren't skirting around her per se, but there was still a definite focus on the busty girls from Dorne that took away limelight-time from everyone else.

Jaime hadn't known there were gymnasts who were viewed as sex symbols; hadn't thought about anything but the unexpected strenuousness of the sport when he had watched Brienne train and compete in the year they'd been together. Watching his girlfriend pulling off moves he couldn't even dream of had unexpectedly changed his view on women in sports. From there on, it had felt wrong to eye her in the mandatory skintight leotard, since she had to wear it for her _job_. Looking at miles of naked leg had always been a treat, but to objectify her and only focus on her looks, when it should be her unadulterated power and flexibility she should be admired for, was out of the question. Jaime had overestimated the rest of the male population in his belief that it was just regular decent thinking surely everyone was practicing. The camera panning in on the Sand sisters stretching, after the little Stark had gotten her points and assistants were starting to adjust the bars for the next – apparently taller than the rest – contestant, was just proof of that.

"I think she's next," Bronn mumbled around the neck of his bottle. Another swivel of the camera showed Brienne clapping her hands to free them of excess talcum powder. She went to the mark, got into position, and Jaime preventively pushed the popcorn bowl into Bronn's free hand.

The signal came and Brienne was off. Her strides were long, fast and the jump went perfectly so that she ended up jumping right over the lower bar and got a firm grip on the higher one. She swung around it, her body a perfect taut line, suddenly spun on her axis, twisted a few times one-handed, and then made splits that would have been impressive if she'd done them on the ground but were mind-boggling up in the air. She continued to switch between positions and then flipped over – like a trapezist – to the lower bar to continue her choreography there. Faster than Jaime was able to follow, she was airborne, somersaulting with inhuman speed, to land safely on her feet. No stumble was discernable, nothing for which the jury could dock her points.

She had been perfect.

"Looks like she did well," Bronn toasted the TV with his beer bottle. "And her legs looked great while she was swinging her tush around that pole."

Jaime elbowed him in the side but didn't take his eyes off the screen while doing so. Later, he could lament about Bronn being one of those guys objectifying female athletes. But chances were high that this was just the reverse equivalent of that one time he had told Cersei her ass was getting saggy. He liked Brienne, so Brienne got his _I'd fuck that_ -stamp of approval.

The jury was still discussing something, tucking their heads together and whispering like old ladies at the meat counter. "Come on, perfect score," Jaime repeated over and over again as he tried to stare the judges down. Not that they noticed, thousands of miles away as they were.

Then the narrator mentioned, "And the points for Brienne Tarth are in," and Jaime subconsciously ceased breathing.

 **15.933**

The best contestant before her had scored 0.215 lower, and there was only one girl to go. No matter how the last gymnast performed, Brienne had a Nymeriac medal.

Jaime began breathing again in the most chocked manner he could manage without suffocating when he heard the announcement of who was last. Daenerys Targaryen. The fairy of the sports world. Fuck. He hadn't even noticed her, so focused had he been on Brienne.

Bronn sipped unperturbed from his beer. "Look at that girl's toothpick arms. She'll lose her grip before she's even at the second bar."

Jaime wished he could be as optimistic, but he knew better. "She's the current world champion. I didn't hear anything about her in the pre-games broadcast, so I thought we were free of her this time around. There were rumors about her not competing because of her dad's mental breakdown, since he was also her trainer." He took a mouthful of beer to wet his suddenly dry mouth, then put the bottle down next to the couch. "The media calls her the Fairy because it seems like magic that she's able to do all that with such a petite stature and absolutely no muscle definition." Even the Stark girl had possessed the for their sport characteristic slightly broader shoulder section packed with lean muscle. This one, however, was just sleek, tiny and frail looking all over. "But her fans call her the Dragon."

When she took to the bar, it became clear why. She was flying – not doing acrobatics, just simply flying, and all the while she never lost her impassive mien and glowing eyes. Jaime sighed and sank deeper into the couch.

The landing took not only him by surprise.

Targaryen landed on the mat after a perfect spin, but she had straightened her legs too early. Her ankle buckled, and the next second she was lying flat on her back.

Again, Jaime didn't dare to breathe until the results for the girl, who took her stumble at least with an ounce of grace as she walked from the field, were blinking on the scoreboard.

 **15.605**

Although Jaime had put the popcorn away, precisely to avoid this, he impulsively snatched the bowl from Bronn's lap, jumped up and threw the content in the air. The world's saltiest confetti shower of victory rained down on them.

"Fuck, yes!" A lot of popped corn fell victim to Jaime's happy dance as he grinned at the television, where Brienne's disbelieving face was shown in a close-up. Her shock only turned into a blinding smile, with tears and laughter and blushing, the whole package, when one of her trainers, Catelyn Stark, pulled her into a hug, murmuring things to her the mic couldn't pick up but which probably amounted to, "You did it. You won. I'm so proud of you."

As the camera started doing sweeping rounds to capture the expressions of the other medalists and the losers alike, Jaime let himself fall sideways to land half on Bronn and half on the couch. "She won," he murmured full of reverence before he grabbed his partner's face between his hand and prosthetic and planted a kiss on his lips that was somewhere between childish 'Mwah' and filthy tease.

Behind his back, the Nymeriac broadcast switched over to the men's volleyball semi-final and therefore contributed no longer a reason to watch.

Heaving himself fully onto Bronn, Jaime grinned with gleaming eyes down at the other man, who did his renowned eyebrow lift. In response, he got a double eyebrow wiggle from Jaime, combined with a body roll worthy of a seasoned stripper. They were fairly matched in ridiculousness.

Bronn tilted his head to the left. "Your ex wins a medal, and I get celebratory sex. That's how it is?"

Jaime just bore down harder on Bronn's lap. "Yep."

"Not complaining," Bronn husked and settled his hands on Jaime's hips. Jaime flicked his tongue against Bronn's ear, and– "Actually, I'm hoping she will also hit first place at the next championship."

An hour later, when they had long ago relocated to their bedroom and were, as Bronn had put it during Jaime's valiant attempt to win gold in the sex version of dressage riding, _fucked out_ , Jaime's cell phone rang. The energy he didn't have for anything more than lazing around naked on their bed, spread out like a starfish, zapped back into Jaime's body and he ran for it. His old nemesis named parquet was doing its damn best to make him stumble before he could reach the docking station he had put his phone in.

He got there just in time, the person on the other side probably only one ring away from giving up. "Brienne?"

Ignoring that he was standing buck naked in a room with double windows, he focused only on the voice of one of his best friends, if not the single best one. He wasn't sure if his lover and his brother counted.

"Of course I watched you kick that hatchling's ass! It's bad enough I wasn't able to be right there with you," he gushed. There was mumbling on the other end of the line that sounded like an attempt at soothing.

"I'm still sorry. Cersei did her best to get our hearing set for this morning. I don't want to know what she had to do for that, just so I couldn't make the trip in time." More mumblings. "Ah, my favorite soda sipper, always worrying about others." He grinned against the mouthpiece and absentmindedly waved his stump at Mrs. Bolton from the flat complex facing theirs, who watered more the terrace wall than the flowers she had aimed for as she took in his naked form.

"Let's just say that this day is going into the record book for being the best day ever. I am now the official single owner of the shop. And you, you aerial acrobat, won fucking first place at the Nymeriac Games!" His face looked set to split any second with all his happiness shining through.

From the back of the apartment, where the bedroom was, Bronn's voice echoed, "Tell her thanks for making you horny."

"Bronn says hi."

"And that her ass looked bitable as fuck," Bronn followed up with. He preferred to keep his naked self confined to bed, where it was nicely pillowed and comfy.

Jaime knew this all too well and started making his way down the small corridor back to him. "He's also congratulating you. You deserved the win like no one else there."

Bronn was still relaxing with closed eyes on their queen sized bed. (There was a joke in there Bronn had repeated a thousand times before. Jaime was enough in love with him to laugh like he was enamored by such clever wit and not just by the talented mouth that told the old chestnut.)

Seating himself on the black coverlet, beside Bronn's hip, Jaime swiped and tapped a bit on his phone before he held it up between them. "You're on speaker now, Brienne."

"Took you long enough," she groused, her voice sounding a bit tinny, thanks to the horrible transatlantic transmission and her ancient clamshell phone. "Hey, Bronn."

At his name, he deigned to open his eyes, settling them on the device in his partner's hand. "Hey, girl. You did good," he smiled.

"Thanks. I still can't fully believe it. It's kind of surreal, you know."

Jaime leaned a bit forward to speak closer to the phone. "Better start believing it, you're going to be in high demand. And since we're on that, what the hell are you doing talking to us ordinary people? Shouldn't you be celebrating with the other newly crowned sports gods up in some swanky high end club in Nymeria village?"

His teasing only made Brienne roll her eyes. Jaime was pretty sure he could hear her eyeballs rotating, even through the shoddy line, when she answered. "And miss the chance to talk to the guy who practically threw me out his door to get me to chase my dreams?"

"If you wouldn't have tried to be noble and so bloody stubborn–"

"I wouldn't be here without you." That shut him up pretty quickly.

"What I meant to say is…Thank you, Jaime." She had said his name in the same way before she had left for her training in Winterfell – softly and trusting. Trust in him, how novel at the time. Nowadays, it was one of the habits he couldn't break her of.

"You did it all on your own," he answered her in a similar tone. A warm hand started petting his thigh, gently stirring the hairs there. Bronn looked at him as if he wanted to reassure and smack him at the same time for being so self-deprecating, but Jaime appreciated it nonetheless.

A huff akin to a quiet laugh droned from the phone. "Yes, I did. But it helped to know I had someone on my side. Other than my dad and trainers, I mean."

The ensuing silence stretched as Jaime tried to swallow around the lump that had taken residence in his throat.

"But again, yes, I got myself there," Brienne broke the moment before it became too uncomfortable. "I worked my ass off for this, literally. Seriously, it's lost all its curves. I'm kind of miffed about that." Jaime really couldn't rein the guffaw in. The woman wasn't prone to joking in this manner, so Jaime appreciated it for the attempt at lightning the mood that it was.

With the gates of drama-land firmly closed, Jaime flopped down next to Bronn and tried to get comfortable, which resulted in rustling bedsheets.

"What's that sound? Jaime, are you in bed? It's only 4 p.m. where you are." _Now_ of all times the transmission had to become high quality.

Bronn just started petting his leg again and kept his mouth shut. The dodger.

"Yeah, but–"

"Please tell me you were just tired," feebly, she begged, a tad theatrical for her.

"Now he definitely is!" Bronn joyfully hollered. Forget dodger, he was a traitor. In retaliation, Jaime tried to kick his shin but ended up, due to his position, playing footsie with him.

"Oh god, you're naked, aren't you?"

"Eh."

"Jaime Lannister, just because I've seen it all doesn't mean I want to have international chats with you while you're naked. There's a line." She paused. "Somewhere. We didn't draw any, but there should be one. I'll ask Sansa."

That wasn't how he wanted to end their conversation, not on her big day. "Brienne."

An audible smile in her voice, she said, "Go celebrate with your man, and in the meantime I'll do the same with my friends. And later, you can call me again. Dressed, if you please."

In that moment Jaime was so fucking glad to not have lost her after their breakup. The woman was a marvel.

"Okay. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, and have fun." He didn't wait for her answer before he continued with, "I'm happy for you."

"And I'm for you." She was so painfully honest, he wanted to hug her. "And have _fun_ , too, Jaime," and the line went dead. She was getting cheeky in her triumphant days.

Jaime thought about sending her a follow-up text message. Such innuendo from his usually shy best girl couldn't be left unanswered. However, the footsie game Bronn had kept going through all of this was getting out of hand. Bronn was a lot more flexible than Jaime, for some reason, and was doing things to his calf that had no business being sexy.

So, with a shrug and adding _Call Brienne in the morning_ to his mental to-do-list, Jaime tackled Bronn.

There were no pants in sight for the rest of the evening.


End file.
